Safe Haven
by Juliet6
Summary: What if Dumbledore and McGonagall had taken Harry to Hogwarts instead of leaving him with the Dursleys? (AU, answer to a challenge.)
1. Default Chapter

This is in response to a challenge I've seen floating around the site: Dumbledore and McGonagall decide to raise Harry together instead of leaving him with the Dursleys. It's an AU (obviously), and will end up being AD/MM. 

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In its thousand-year history, Hogwarts had had many Headmasters. Some had been men of high, even violent temper, who had enjoyed slamming doors, throwing books and occasionally setting people's shoes on fire to vent their spleen. The current Headmaster, however, was known for his tranquil demeanor, and had never slammed his office door until today.

"I thought I had made my decision on this issue quite clear," he said as soon as the door had closed. "Why have you disobeyed me?"

"I couldn't leave him there," said the woman he was addressing. "I've been watching. They aren't treating him properly - ignoring him when he cries, feeding him when it suits them, letting their great lump of a son poke and pinch him like a plaything."

The Headmaster drew a long, slow breath, as if attempting to calm himself.

"You saw the letter of instruction I left them," he said.

"Indeed I did," said the woman. "It went straight into the bin after they'd read it. They have no intention of raising him as anything like their own child." Her brows knitted into a fierce scowl at the idea.

"Minerva -" 

"Don't 'Minerva' me. Using my given name will not make me one bit more likely to agree to your plans." She stepped around the perch where the Headmaster's phoenix was dozing and sat down in an overstuffed chair with the attitude of someone about to stage a protest. The bird raised its golden head from its wing and let out a drowsy trill.

"Hush, Fawkes," said the Headmaster. "Go back to sleep."

"I expect he's agreeing with me," said Minerva, folding her arms defiantly across the front of her emerald robes. Fawkes chirped.

The Headmaster's anger seemed to ease a bit at that, and he took the chair beside his opponent, turning it so they were facing each other with their knees nearly touching. When he spoke, his voice was much kinder than before.

"Do not think I do not understand your feelings, Minerva," he said. "If I could, I would give the boy his parents back, or barring that, an aunt and uncle who would love him as he deserves - but I can do neither. Nor can I leave him with another wizard family, for reasons I have already explained. What else do you propose I do?"

This was a rhetorical question, but Minerva had an answer at the ready, as he should have known she would.

"Let him stay at Hogwarts," she said. "I can look after him - I know I can - and he won't be as conspicuous here as he would someplace else. There's no one to see him but the students, and he needn't come into contact with them at all if he stays in the staff wing and gardens."

The Headmaster was silent for a long time, considering this. Some of her points were valid, yes, and he certainly didn't want to leave the boy with Vernon and Petunia Dursley if there were another way, but -

"Have you thought this all the way through?" he asked at last. "Who will take care of him while you're teaching?"

"The house-elves," said Minerva promptly, "and Hagrid wants to help as well. Though I can't say I trust him not to strap poor Harry onto a dragon's back and send him off flying for a treat."

"You have discussed this with Hagrid?"

"He saw us arrive," said Minerva. "I could scarcely get away from him to come and speak to you. He's taken Harry to the kitchens to be fed." She glanced down for a moment, smoothing some invisible creases out of her skirt.

"Please let the boy stay, Dumbledore," she said to her lap. "I'm sorry I went behind your back, truly I am, but I couldn't - I couldn't bear to see him being treated that way. We've just celebrated the downfall of a wizard who thought Muggles less than human. How, in good conscience, can we give the child who brought about that downfall to Muggles who think the same of wizards?"

Neither of them said anything for a moment after that. Dumbledore stroked his beard reflectively while the candle flames flickered and Fawkes rustled on his perch. It was so quiet he could hear Minerva's breathing - a little ragged, as if she were trying to hold back tears. 

"Very well," he said at last. "Harry may stay."

Minerva raised her head abruptly and looked at him with an expression of disbelieving joy that transformed her severe face completely.

"Really?"

"Yes. But I reserve the right to change my mind at any time if circumstances change. And Minerva - do not defy me this way again. If I cannot trust my Deputy Headmistress, whom can I trust?"

"You can trust me," she said. "Oh, Albus -" 

"There, there," he said, patting her on the shoulder as he had when they had met outside the Dursleys' house two weeks before. "Surely you aren't going to fall all to pieces now, not when you have a child to care for. Come, we'll go down and see how young Master Potter is doing with his supper, and then I will help you arrange for his accommodations."

"I thought I would keep him in my own room," said Minerva, getting up.

Dumbledore chuckled. "I advise against that," he said. "Children Harry's age are dreadful sleepers; you'll be awake all night listening to him toss and turn. I think we can coax the castle to do a small reconfiguration, just enough to add an extra room to your quarters." 

"Very well then, let's go." All at once she was her usual brisk self again, revitalized at the thought of having business to accomplish. It made Dumbledore smile - but in his heart, he was worried. He had felt uncertain about his decision to leave the boy with his aunt and uncle in the first place. He felt even less confident now.


	2. Chapter 2

Minerva tucked Harry into bed on his first night at Hogwarts with an enormous sense of pleasure and accomplishment. She hadn't been worried about taking him from those horrid Muggles - they wouldn't have stood a chance of stopping her even if they'd cared enough to try - but she'd secretly wondered whether she would be able to overcome Dumbledore's objections to letting the boy stay. It was all done now, though; Harry was safe in their care and would be given a proper wizard's upbringing. 

She stood over his cot and watched as he drifted off to sleep, clutching a frayed old blanket that had been hers long ago. If she looked closely, she could still make out the fading runes her grandmother had embroidered in silver thread around its edges: symbols for health, for good luck, for protection. They had kept her safe all the years of her childhood; surely they could do the same for Harry, at least for one night. 

_I'll get him a new blanket tomorrow_, she thought, beginning a mental list, _and some decent robes in his size, and a pair of shoes_. The poor child had arrived without a single possession to his name - everything he'd owned had gone along with his parents' house, and his aunt and uncle hadn't bothered to buy replacements. She had borrowed the little nightshirt he was wearing from the Hogwarts nurse, Madam Pomfrey, whose son and daughter had long since outgrown it. 

Harry sighed and closed his eyes, and the two fingers he'd been sucking slipped out of his mouth. Carefully, Minerva reached down and dried them with a corner of the blanket. He looked so small and vulnerable that she was tempted to move him to her own bed so he wouldn't be alone, but remembering what Dumbledore had said, she settled for tucking the blanket more firmly around him before leaving the room.

_Everything will be all right now_, she thought as she paused in the doorway to snuff the lanterns with a wave of her wand.

But it wasn't - not at all. By the end of that week, she had discovered that Harry's recent experiences had left a mark on him far deeper than the angry red curse scar on his forehead. He wouldn't eat, or smile, or play with the toys she and the other professors had enchanted for him. Every night, he woke up screaming with what she could only assume were bad dreams, but when she tried to soothe him, he went rigid and turned away from her, wailing for "Mummy." 

It was one of the few words he knew, and she got to hear him say it more often than she would have liked: he spent nearly all his waking time toddling around her quarters, which were their quarters now, repeating "Mummy, Mummy" and peering behind sofas and wall hangings as if he were looking for something. She had tried to divert him with pretty magic of the sort parents did for their children - colored bubbles and fluttering birds and the like - but nothing could stop the endless search. It broke her heart to see it.

"I don't understand it, Albus," she told Dumbledore one afternoon at the beginning of the second week. They were in his office again, going over next term's curriculum. "I'm doing all I can for him, but he still seems so unhappy."

"He wants his mother," Dumbledore said. "Give him time, Minerva. Even a child that young needs a while to adjust to such a change in his life."

"I know," she said. She was trying very hard to be patient, but it was difficult when she received so little from Harry in return. Half the time she felt as if he were ignoring her, the other half as if he actually hated her. The previous night, she had lifted him out of his cot while he was sleeping, thinking that this was her chance to cuddle him a bit, but he had woken immediately and howled to be let go, arching and flailing till she had to put him down or risk dropping him. Once he was back in the cot, she had cast a Silencing Spell on him to stifle the noise, gotten into her own bed, drawn the curtains and sobbed in anger and frustration. 

Raising a small child had seemed so simple when she had first come up with the plan. She had thought all Harry needed to thrive was food and warmth and security, but it seemed she had been wrong. If only he were the age of her students! She knew how to handle _them_ perfectly well: firm discipline and high expectations, with the occasional tidbit of praise. All tactics that were unlikely to work on a traumatized sixteen-month-old baby.

Albus could help her sort things out, she was sure - he had had children of his own, long ago, and was a grandfather several times over. But she kept going back to what he had said to her the night she had brought Harry to Hogwarts: _I reserve the right to change my mind if circumstances change_. If he got the idea she was losing control of the situation, he might very well decide to send Harry away again, and she would not stand for that. 

Well, if she wanted to convince him that everything was all right, she could hardly let her work slip. Picking up her quill again, she struck out "porcupines to pincushions" on the list in front of her and wrote in "Vanishing Spells" instead; the fifth years would need to know those for their O.W.L.s. 

"Where is Harry now, by the by?" Dumbledore asked, glancing at her.

"I asked one of the house-elves to take him out walking in the herb garden," said Minerva. "He sleeps better at night if he gets a bit of fresh air during the day." Better meant that he slept four hours in a row instead of two, but again, no need to mention that to Albus. "Why do you ask?"

" I would like to borrow him for a while after we've finished," said Dumbledore. "I have been meaning to take him up into the Divination tower and ask Sybill Trelawney to have a look at him."

"Sybill!" Minerva sniffed. "The house-elf could tell you more about his future than she could."

"Do not be too sure," said Dumbledore gravely.

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A/N - Yes, I know things aren't going too smoothly for the three of them - especially for Minerva - but they'll get better, I promise!


	3. Chapter 3

Thanks to everyone for reviewing the first two chapters. On to chapter 3!

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Even if Minerva hadn't told Dumbledore where to find Harry, he was sure he would have figured it out on his own, as the cries of the house-elf who was minding the boy could be heard halfway across the grounds.

"No! Young Master must not! Young Master is getting _dirty_!"

Dumbledore passed under the brick archway that led to the herb garden and turned left at the Pegasus topiary. On the other side, he discovered the elf quivering with horror as Harry, seated on the ground beside a rosemary bush, plunged an already-grimy hand into the soft dirt and brought a clump up to his face for inspection. There was a fine dusting of the stuff on his nose and forehead, and also around his mouth. He must have been tasting it as well as examining it, thought Dumbledore, smiling inwardly at the memory of his sons doing the same thing when they were small.

"Young Master, please!" the elf begged. Harry looked at the wee creature quizzically, as if wondering what all the fuss was about, then squeezed his hand into a fist. Dirt sifted out between his chubby fingers.

"Headmaster, sir!" The elf had spied Dumbledore. "I is trying to stop him - I is telling him it is bad - but he is doing it anyway. The Deputy Headmistress will be so angry -" 

"The Deputy Headmistress is not here," said Dumbledore calmly. "It's quite all right for Harry to dig in the dirt. All children do. He can be cleaned up easily."

"I is cleaning him up three times already," complained the elf, but it left off protesting and instead began trying to smooth down Harry's baby-fine black hair, which stuck up in a stubborn spray at the back. Clearly irritated by this, Harry waved his arms, spattering himself, the elf and Dumbledore with bits of earth. 

Dumbledore ignored the mess and crouched down next to the boy.

"Good afternoon, Harry," he said. "I see you're enjoying our garden. It isn't as nice now as it will be in the summer, but there is still plenty of entertainment here for a curious young man, isn't there?"

"Dirt," said Harry, clutching his precious fistful tighter.

Dumbledore laughed aloud. " A fine thing, dirt. You and I will make mud-pies together one day soon, when your foster mother is busy elsewhere. In the meantime, I would like you to go for a walk with me." He straightened up and held out a hand to Harry, who frowned at it, but did not take it. After waiting a moment, he gave up, bent down again, and scooped the little boy into his arms. Harry wailed in outrage.

"Thank you for your help," Dumbledore said to the house-elf, raising his voice slightly to be heard over Harry's shrieks. "You may go back to your usual work now."

"Yes, sir!" shrilled the elf, and vanished with a look of intense relief on its dirt-speckled face.

Harry had been surprised into silence by the elf's sudden departure. Now he began crying and struggling again, drumming his tiny boots against the thick folds of Dumbledore's crushed-velvet robes. Dumbledore lifted him higher to avoid taking a kick to the groin - he wasn't so old yet that he didn't care about protecting that part of his anatomy.

"Is all this noise really necessary?" he asked. Harry appeared to think it was. "Very well, then," said Dumbledore, and began walking back to the castle entrance as if nothing out of the ordinary were happening. By the time they had got halfway down the first corridor, Harry had worn himself out and stopped screaming, though he still refused to hold on to his captor. Deciding to ignore this, Dumbledore cheerfully pointed out interesting bits of architecture as he walked, warning Harry to stay away from the sliding bookcases and go around the statue of the Sphinx, which often animated without warning and demanded that the nearest passerby answer a riddle before progressing. He was just finishing the story of the fateful Battle of the Broken Broomstick, as portrayed in the stained-glass windows on the North Tower's first floor, when they reached the circular trapdoor leading to Sybill Trelawney's classroom.

Dumbledore set Harry down carefully, removed his wand from his sleeve, reached up and tapped the door twice with the wand's tip. It opened silently, releasing a silver ladder and a puff of cloying jasmine incense. Harry sneezed.

"Bless you," Dumbledore said. "Let me see, I don't think you're quite big enough to climb the ladder, and I am far from agile enough to climb it while holding you. So - _Levo!_!" He pointed his wand, and Harry rose into the air and disappeared through the black hole of the door. Quickly, Dumbledore scaled the ladder after him.

There were no Divination classes on Tuesdays this year, and the room was empty. It was also cooler and darker than usual - only one red-draped lamp burned in the corner, near the smoldering incense brazier. Sybill was surely here somewhere, though, Dumbledore thought. She almost never left unless she was forced. She had even arranged to have her pay deposited directly into her Gringotts account so she wouldn't have to visit the bank in person.

"Professor Trelawney?" he called. "Sybill? I would like a word with you, if you please."

Off to the side, a small door opened, and Trelawney emerged, rumpled and blinking as if she'd been napping in her office. 

"Yes, yes, I'm here," she said rather grumpily. Then, realizing that her employer had come to call, she put on her best dreamy, mystical voice instead. "Good afternoon to you, Professor Dumbledore. What brings you to my tower?"

"It has been far too long since I visited my esteemed Divination professor," said Dumbledore with a wink that made Trelawney look flattered and terrified all at once. "And also, there is someone I would like you to meet. Sybill Trelawney, may I present Master Harry James Potter?"

Trelawney's large eyes went even larger. Wrapping her shawl around her skinny shoulders, she came closer and peered at the child in Dumbledore's arms. Harry, confronted by this odd-looking stranger, suddenly decided that Dumbledore was not so bad after all and hid against his chest. 

"No, Harry," said Dumbledore, turning him round again. "Let Professor Trelawney look at you. She is very kind to little children, aren't you, Sybill?"

"What? Oh ... yes. I love children. Little ... little dears." Trelawney clutched the shawl tighter and managed a halfway sincere smile. "So this is the boy, is it? Ah, what an aura he has ... green ... a healer, one who brings peace and harmony ..."

Dumbledore could see Harry's aura perfectly well and knew there was not a trace of green in it, but he refrained from commenting. He was hoping that actually seeing Harry would trigger something in Sybill, perhaps inspire her to expand on the alarming prophecy she had made the night he had hired her, nearly two years ago now. Ever since he had agreed to let Minerva take Harry to raise, he had been second-guessing himself and his own ability to guard the boy. If sending Harry back to his aunt and uncle were the surest means of protecting the hope of the wizarding world, then he would do it, whatever the cost. 

But he was disappointed. Trelawney talked vaguely for a while about clouds overhanging Harry's past and warned Dumbledore to keep him away from dark-haired men in the future, but not once did her voice hold a note of true prediction. She might as well have been reading from a horoscope column. Minerva would have felt vindicated, thought Dumbledore, nodding gravely as Trelawney went on and on.

"Thank you, Sybill," he said when she began to show signs of winding down. "I hate to leave so soon, but I must take Harry back down now. Professor McGonagall has him on a strict schedule, and she will be most unhappy if he is late for his dinner."

The Divination professor looked rather sour at the mention of Minerva's name - there was no love lost between the two women - but she nodded and leaned over to Harry, apparently meaning to give him a farewell pat on the head. Before she could do it, however, Harry opened his hand and let the dirt from the garden, which he'd been holding all along, fall onto her carpeted floor. Trelawney squawked and snatched up her wand from a nearby table to clean the mess away, her eyes darting around like a pair of agitated goldfish behind the thick glass of her spectacles.

"Good afternoon!" said Dumbledore hastily, and made for the trapdoor before she could see him laughing. 

"Oh, Harry," he said when they were safe in the passage below. "Whatever shall I do with you, my boy?"

Harry had no reply to that. He planted his two middle fingers in his mouth and sucked them thoughtfully as Dumbledore descended the tower stairs. 

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	4. Chapter4

Though Harry's presence at Hogwarts was no secret, the sight of him still drew crowds whenever he was in the main part of the castle. To avoid causing a disturbance, Dumbledore took the long way back from the North Tower, and ended up delivering his charge late for dinner after all.  
  
"It's ten past five," Minerva said irritably as she opened the door. "What kept you? Did Sybill ask him to cross her palm with silver?"  
  
"Not at all," said Dumbledore. "Shall I bring him in?"  
  
"Yes, yes, of course." She stood aside and let them into her sitting room, where Harry's dinner was already laid out on a round table near the fireplace. Dumbledore deposited the little boy in his chair, and, checking to make certain Minerva wasn't looking, cast a swift spell to remove the remnants of garden soil from his hands and face before she could see them. Then he surveyed the divided plate that held Harry's food - soft-cooked chicken, carrots and potatoes, all cut into tiny cubes. He thought he recognized Minerva's handiwork in the surgical precision of the cuts.  
  
"I have his timetable set," said Minerva, coming up beside them and tying a bib around Harry's neck. The motley clown on it capered and did a handstand before blowing up a red balloon printed with the words TIME TO EAT. "Dinner is at five. Bedtime is at seven. If he gets off schedule -"  
  
"Ten minutes in either direction will make no difference," said Dumbledore calmly.  
  
Minerva didn't respond to that, but she looked unconvinced as she set Harry's plate in front of him. Her usually pale face was flushed pink - whether from annoyance or frustration, Dumbledore could not tell - and several long, curling strands of dark hair had escaped from her bun. Dumbledore noted the latter with interest and mild surprise. He hadn't known that Minerva had curly hair. It seemed unlike her somehow. All at once, he realized he was wondering what it would look like if it were loose, and how it would feel to the touch, and redirected himself firmly.  
  
"Children are far more flexible than we," he assured her. "If anything, coming late to dinner will give him more time to work up an appetite."  
  
"Don't count on it," said Minerva. "He seems to live on air. I keep trying different foods, but he never takes more than a bite or two of anything. I've no idea what he likes, and I can hardly ask his m-" She stopped, looking troubled by what she had almost said, then went on, "Well, anyway, there's no one to ask."  
  
They stood side by side in silence for a moment, watching Harry methodically pick all the carrots out of his plate and throw them on the floor. When he'd finished with that, he shoved two cubes of chicken into his mouth, then overturned the entire plate and announced "Done." With her lips compressed into a grim line of disapproval, Minerva released him from the chair and set him down. He wobbled briefly - his legs were still unsteady sometimes - but caught hold of the table leg and got his balance.  
  
"Mummy," he said, looking around. "Mummy, Daddy, Mummy."  
  
Minerva sighed. "He'll go on like that till he falls asleep," she said. "Look here, Harry, don't you want your bunny? I think he'd like to play with you."  
  
Ignoring the white stuffed rabbit she held out, Harry tottered off in the direction of the small nursery they had set up for him, still muttering his mantra to himself. The bunny's pink thread nose twitched, and its ears drooped disconsolately. So did Minerva's shoulders. She looked so defeated that Dumbledore felt moved to slip a comforting arm around her, though he wasn't sure she would find it an appropriate gesture. To his astonishment, and pleasure, she put both her arms round him in return and rested her head on his chest, so close that her hair brushed his cheek.  
  
"It will all work out, Minerva," he said. "He is very young, and he will forget his other life in time. Until then, please try to relax a bit. You'll be no use to him if you make yourself ill worrying over timetables."  
  
"He needs to develop more regular habits," said Minerva stubbornly. "And to eat before he starves himself. I believe I'll take him to the hospital wing in the morning, before my first class - Madam Pomfrey may be able to do something for him."  
  
"Perhaps," said Dumbledore, thinking that that wasn't such a bad idea. It couldn't hurt for Madam Pomfrey to examine the child, after all, and she might be able to soothe Minerva's concerns where he was failing.  
  
"That's what I'll do, then." Minerva's voice sounded a little vague now, and her head was growing suspiciously heavy on his shoulder. Abruptly, she yawned and jerked upright, disengaging herself from his embrace and turning away to clean up Harry's abandoned carrots.  
  
"You had better get downstairs for your own dinner while there's still some to be had," she said. Her back was to him, but she sounded a little embarrassed that she'd nearly fallen asleep on her feet.  
  
"Will you be coming down as well?"  
  
Minerva waved a dismissive hand. "I can get something later, after Harry's asleep."  
  
"Be sure that you do," said Dumbledore, "and that you sleep as well. I won't have you falling asleep halfway through a lesson - or a transformation. You wouldn't look nearly so pretty with a permanent set of whiskers."  
  
She turned around again, hands full of carrot pieces, and looked at him skeptically. Her eyebrows were raised as high as they could go, but the flush in her cheeks looked more like pleasure now than anger. He smiled and refrained from commenting.  
  
"Point taken," Minerva said at last. "I promise to sleep - as much as I can, anyway. And now you really should be going. The dinner hour's almost over."  
  
"I'll just look in on Harry first," said Dumbledore. Walking over to the nursery door, he peered around the corner before entering. Harry was sitting on the floor in front of some blocks, pushing them around halfheartedly, but not building anything with them. Under his breath, he was still repeating "Mummy, Mummy, Mummy ."  
  
All the warmth Dumbledore had felt during his conversation with Minerva evaporated at that sight. Leaving the boy alone, he wished her a good night and went to his dinner with no appetite.  
  
A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed chapter 3! 


	5. Chapter 5

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Minerva roused Harry early the following morning for his visit to Madam Pomfrey. She hated to do it - he had woken screaming just after midnight, eyes wide open and hair wet with sweat, and had not fallen back to sleep for more than an hour. Now he was tired and irritable, and let her know it through a campaign of toe-curling and fist-clenching that made it nearly impossible to dress him.

Eventually, after some stern words, she managed to wrestle him into his robes. They were emerald green - a shade that complemented his coloring, as it did hers - and had a tiny Gryffindor crest sewn just below the left shoulder. Propaganda, yes, but she did hope he would want to be in Gryffindor one day; if not for her own satisfaction, then to honor his parents' memories.

_Lily and James._ As always, her eyes filled with tears at the thought of their names. She didn't know why she wept for them any more than for the hundreds who had suffered the same fate, some of whom she had known as well, or better. Maybe it was only because she had charge of the child they had left behind. He had grown in the few weeks they'd been gone; he already looked more like a little boy than the baby who had slept so tranquilly in Albus' arms on Halloween night. And his parents would never see him, never know - good Lord, she was about to sob like a baby herself. It was a ridiculous way to behave. Crying would neither bring them back nor make her job any easier.

Still sniffing a bit, she scooped Harry up, ignoring the way he stiffened and arched his back in protest. Then she gathered a handful of glittering Floo powder, stepped into the fireplace, and announced "Hospital wing!" in her firmest no-nonsense tone.

"He's perfectly healthy, Professor," Madam Pomfrey said some time later, slipping her wand into her apron pocket and offering Minerva a reassuring smile over the top of Harry's head. "A little thin, maybe, but you remember how his father was - a positive rail of a boy, no matter how many Honeydukes sweets he ate."

Minerva was not reassured. "I remember, of course. It's scarcely been five years since James and Lily were here. The difference is that James ate and stayed thin anyway. Harry never eats."

"He will," said Madam Pomfrey. "I've never heard of a child starving himself to death. Just keep putting food in front of him at mealtimes, and when he's hungry enough, he'll give in. Won't you?" She tickled Harry, who stared at her resentfully instead of giggling and squirming in standard baby fashion.

"Isn't there some sort of tonic I could give him?" asked Minerva, remembering how she and her sisters had lined up on winter mornings for thick dark spoonfuls of Madam Robusta's Build-Em-Up Elixir. Their mother had sworn by the stuff, and they had rarely been ill, so there must have been something to it.

"Yes," said Madam Pomfrey, "but he doesn't need it, and getting it into him will be more trouble than it's worth."

"I suppose you're right," Minerva agreed with a sigh. It was difficult enough to slip food into Harry's stubborn little mouth. She couldn't imagine trying to sneak medicine in there as well.

They both stood silently for a minute and watched Harry examining the brightly colored potion bottles on Madam Pomfrey's desk. Then the tower clock began to strike nine, and Minerva leapt up, horrified. 

"Oh no! I didn't realize it was so late - I have a lesson to teach. Come along, Harry." She grabbed for him, but Madam Pomfrey stopped her with a firm hand.

"He's enjoying himself, Minerva. Don't disturb him. You can leave him here with me while you teach your lesson. I haven't any patients this morning anyway."

"If it isn't any trouble -"

"No trouble at all," Madam Pomfrey assured her.

"Thanks awfully," Minerva said, and all but ran for the door to the corridor. It wasn't until she reached the head of the stairs that she realized she had completely missed saying goodbye to Harry.

_It's not as if he'll notice,_ she thought with a touch of bitterness. _He doesn't care whether I'm there or not, does he now?_ Still, the oversight bothered her. What sort of foster mother was she, to rush off and leave her child with someone he scarcely knew, without so much as a word of reassurance? She would have to do better in future.

She arrived at the Transfiguration classroom hot and flustered, but only a few minutes late, and guided her fourth-years through their lesson more or less by rote. They had already done animal-to-object transfigurations in their second year; this was just review for them. At the end of the hour, she collected the homework they had done over the weekend - noting that Charlie Weasley had, once again, drawn fire-breathing dragons up and down the margins of his parchment - and released them on the dot of ten so she could hurry back and get Harry.

_Please tell me he behaved,_ she thought as she rounded the corner into the hospital wing. He was not an overly rambunctious little boy, but he _was_ a boy, and already showed signs of liking to knock things over and take them apart. Although, she realized, she would have more to explain if he had spent the time looking for Lily around every corner. She hadn't told Madam Pomfrey about his strange grieving ritual, only his refusal to eat.

To her relief, Harry was quietly occupied when she arrived, making big, sweeping scribbles on the stone floor with a fat piece of chalk Madam Pomfrey had given him. Madam Pomfrey herself was filling in paperwork at her desk. Upon hearing Minerva's footsteps, she straightened up and smiled at Harry. 

"Here's Professor McGonagall come to take you home, Harry," she said.

Harry stopped in mid-scribble, the chalk clutched like a dusty candle in his fist.

"Mummy?" he asked. Minerva's heart sank.

"No, Harry," she said as briskly as possible. "We're going back to our rooms. I'll stay with you for a while, and then the elf will come to take you for a walk. Would you like to go for a walk?"

"No," said Harry, beginning to pout.

"Yes," said Minerva. "Madam Pomfrey has been very kind to let you stay here, but now it is time to go."

"No go!"

Minerva stared down at him, wondering whether she ought to bother coaxing, or just pick him up and carry him away. Out in the main ward, a voice called "Madam Pomfrey? Are you there? I've got a first-year here with his head turned round backward, it looks awful ..."

"Coming," Madam Pomfrey called back.

When she had gone, Minerva knelt down beside Harry and gave him her sternest stare.

"We're going now too," she said.

"No _go_!" howled Harry, and flung himself backward, hitting his head with a crack that made him cry even harder. Minerva gasped and hurriedly sat him upright again so she could look for injuries. There was a small bump under his tousled black wisps of hair, but nothing worse; Providence seemed to be on the side of small children determined to harm themselves.

Harry continued to wail, and on a sudden impulse, she switched into her Animagus form, hoping that it would distract him from his upset. The trick always drew oohs and aahs from her first-year classes; perhaps it would work on a child this age as well.

It did. Harry stopped crying instantly and flashed a cheeky little gap-toothed grin, the first she had seen since she had taken him from the Dursleys. 

"Dog!" he said.

_Dog?_ Minerva wondered. She sauntered forward and rubbed against the boy's side, making sure to let the tip of her tail brush under his chin. Harry giggled - another first - and grabbed at the tail, but she swished it out of his reach.

"Dog," he repeated. Finding that her inner teacher could not resist the urge to correct this mistake, Minerva transformed and looked at him as seriously as one could while crouched on all fours.

"Not dog," she said. "Cat."

"Dog!' Harry insisted, clearly not pleased that his furry new playmate had turned back into the woman who forced him to wash and eat and go to bed. "Back dog!"

"Back dog? You want the dog to come back?"

"Nooo!" wailed Harry. "Back dog! Back dog!"

Minerva decided that proper vocabulary was not worth another tantrum and changed form again. So what if he didn't know the difference between a dog and a cat yet? He was only a baby, after all. But as he patted her head and gave her painfully enthusiastic hugs, she heard him repeat "back dog, back dog" as if it were something very important. She wondered what on earth he could mean.

--------------------------------


End file.
